Ascending the worn-out, crumbling steps of the Swan, I riffle through the monthly bills, until my eyes, stop. I'm captivated by a name I seldom read and never hear, Paul Crabbe. A parcel, a Christmas present of such. One of our infrequent correspondences. Opening my door I hastily unwrap the package. A cassette. It has been years since I've heard him play. I sink into the arm chair as I place the tape into the cassette player. The sharp pointed notes drown out the dive din of the beer garden below.

I remember well the first time I met Paul. An anxious, shy boy of fifteen, his mother pushing him through my door, a sure sign of his sheltered childhood. He was arrogant, eager to play, not to learn. A trait that would become apparent on our third lesson. A lifetime of useless praise from his parents had gone to his head. He needed to be re-taught.

Taught to listen.

His Chopin was no good, his hands, his fingertips, his elbows in the wrong position. I did not have to listen to know how it would sound, the spoilt young boy who ran out of my room crying has not changed. He has not learnt to listen. I sigh with resignation "He must learn all over again the …show more content…
I tried to tell him of my ignorance. How foolish I was to think that my wife, my child, would be safe all because we were in the public eye. I was naïve as Paul. It did not stop the Nazi's from their mission. Vienna had appeared the same on the surface but underneath it had changed. Deception and malevolence had crept into Vienna and I had lost the ones I loved. I tried to tell Paul, but he left preoccupied with his future, with his girlfriend. I tried to warn him of the dangers of the world. Of people. I wanted to stop him from getting hurt like I did. Like Mathilde and Eric. I need him to see how depraved things can be. He needed to be aware, needed to be alert so he did not lose the ones he loved like I did. To have his life ripped away before his